


Holmes is where the Hart is.

by amouthful (Talraven)



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Crossover, Family Drama, Family Reunions, Harry Hart is secretly a Holmes, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20743190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/amouthful
Summary: Eggsy was just about to take JB for a walk when there's an unexpected visitor at the door.As it turns out, Harry still hassomesecrets hidden.





	Holmes is where the Hart is.

**Author's Note:**

> Conception of this fic and other warnings are at the end.
> 
> Harry is the eldest, followed by Mycroft, Sherlock and Eurus. Also, it's not explicitly mentioned, but Mycroft totally joined MI6 because Harry threatened to quit if Mycroft had joined Kingsman instead.

When Eggsy pulls open the front door, one hand tugging at JB’s leash as the pug insists on sprawling all over Harry’s shoes - _ again _\- he doesn’t expect to be met with the broad, poshly-dressed chest of a man towering over him. 

When Eggsy looks up, it’s to a stern, permanently-frowning face with a receding hairline, and a condescending, raised-brow expression that Eggsy might’ve taken offense to, three years ago.

As it is, he simply sighs and pulls JB to his side - just in case it’s not a friendly visit - before yelling over his shoulder, “‘Arry! S’an old bloke at the door! You expectin’ company, love?”

“‘Love’?” Eggsy hears the ‘old bloke’ murmur blandly, and Eggsy _ does _take offense, looking back at the man with a challenging stare.

“Y’got a problem with that, gov?” he challenges, raising his own brow as sarcastically as he can manage.

The man parts his pursed, thin lips to answer, but then Harry arrives at Eggsy’s shoulder, and Eggsy sees the man’s entire being slouch somewhat minutely as his eyes land on what Eggsy assumes is Harry’s face.

“Bugger,” Harry deadpans, uncharacteristically blunt, but before Eggsy could process his own shock, Harry’s got a firm hand on his shoulder and pulling him back inside before slamming the door shut in the stranger’s face. “Come along, Eggsy,” Harry says, striding back down the hall as though he hadn’t just done what he had.

Eggsy could only gape at his retreating back, jumping slightly when there’s a series of heavy knocks on the door. Eggsy’s grip on JB’s leash has gone slack from his inattention, and the pug barks twice before pulling away and running off deeper into the house, leaving Eggsy standing in the foyer alone like an idiot.

“Do not open that door, Eggsy,” Harry says loudly from the kitchen.

“Why not?” Eggsy asks, incredulous.

“There’s only enough food for two tonight,” Harry replies primly, and Eggsy scowls.

“Is he a bad guy?” Eggsy asks, raising his voice to drown out the insistent knocking.

“The worst of the lot,” Harry answers.

“Worse than Valentine?” Eggsy asks sceptically. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Harry, but his lover’s acting odd, and Eggsy knows on good authority that Harry’s only ever this dramatic when it’s a personal issue he’s hell-bent on avoiding. Besides which, the man at the door had hardly seemed like he’d meant them harm.

There’s a pause in the kitchen before Harry grudgingly admits, “Not _ that _bad.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes, then, and does exactly what Harry’s told him not to, eliciting an annoyed call of his name from Harry.

“You a relative, then?” Eggsy asks the man outside, whose fist is still raised in the air between them as Eggsy interrupts him in the middle of another knock.

“Clever,” the man says, lowering his hand in order to wrap it around a familiar black umbrella he has by his side. “As a matter of fact, I am a relative of Harry’s,” he says.

He’s got an odd way of speaking, Eggsy notes, a rolling of the words in his mouth like he’s sipping at expensive brandy.

“Figured,” Eggsy shrugs, taking a step back and gesturing inside for the man to come in. “He hates you lot. Only time he acts like a child s’when any of you are mentioned.”

The man sniffs daintily, nodding a thanks as he steps through the doorway. “Runs in the family, I’m afraid,” he says in a resigned tone that speaks volumes.

“For God’s sake, Eggsy, you can’t just let random strangers into our home!” Harry says irritably as he steps back into the hallway, arms crossed over his chest as he levels the stranger with his best Harry Hart Death Glare™.

Eggsy resists rolling his eyes again, walking past the stranger to cup a hand at Harry’s elbow and leaning up to whisper into Harry’s ear, “Be nice, love, he looks like he could use a cuppa, yeah?” before planting a chaste kiss on his cheek and heading towards the kitchen.

“I’ll put the kettle on, then,” he says cheerfully.

By the time Eggsy’s bringing the tray of tea and biscuits into the sitting room, Harry and the stranger are in an intense, heated debate over something. Eggsy comes in just as Harry’s furiously hissing, “Don’t think I don’t know that terrorist bombing incident had yours and Sherly’s names all over it!”

“It was contained,” the stranger shot back, sounding just as furious. “We can’t help that madmen love to fixate on our brother!”

“Madmen that you manipulated in order to satisfy your own agendas!” Harry argued. “How many people, Mycroft? Innocent people? And for what? So that you could gain the upper hand in political battles you know better than to involve yourself in?”

“I might’ve… miscalculated certain costs when it came to Moriarty,” the stranger, Mycroft, admitted, deflating.

“And Eurus?” Harry keeps on mercilessly. “You swore to me she was no longer a threat to anyone. I expected better of you, Mycroft.”

Eggsy’s reminded of that night he’d failed his final Kingsman test, how Harry had reacted as he’d stared down at Eggsy with palpable disappointment from his balcony. 

He’s got that same look now, except it’s directed at this Mycroft, and despite the fact that the two of them look only a few years apart, Mycroft certainly has the air of a boy that’s being reprimanded by his headmaster. Eggsy can relate, perhaps a bit too much, and decides to stop the argument, if only temporarily.

“Tea’s on!” he says brightly, lowering the tray onto the coffee table. Mycroft tenses up visibly at his presence, his back straightening and his expression turning carefully blank.

Harry has no reservations whatsoever.

“Thank you, darling,” he tells Eggsy, but his eyes are still set on Mycroft, who glances at Eggsy at the endearment.

“Before you ask, this is my brother, Mycroft Holmes,” Harry says as Eggsy plants himself on the armrest of Harry’s chair, half-leaning against his lover’s shoulder. “He works in the government.”

Eggsy lets out a long, impressed whistle, grinning. “Knew your lot were nobs,” he teased. “Been holding back on me, ‘arry?”

“We’re the hundred and fifth in line for the throne by blood, if that’s what you mean,” Harry replies wryly.

Eggsy stops laughing for a minute before rolling his eyes. “Of course,” he says, “why am I even surprised?”

“And pray tell, who are you?” Mycroft interrupts their banter, eyes on Eggsy.

Before Eggsy can answer, Harry does for him, voice sharp and reproachful, “This is Eggsy Unwin, my partner and subordinate, and you’ll speak to him with the respect his station deserves. Might I remind you that MI6 and the CIA both owe Kingsman a debt of immense gratitude after cleaning up the mess they both made in ‘83.”

Mycroft has the grace to look abashed, and Eggsy can tell it’s not something he’s used to, and takes pity on the bloke.

“Ease up, Harry,” Eggsy says soothingly, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and rubbing circles into his collar. “Bloke’s just curious, s’all. Don’t need to get defensive.”

“There’s been no report of him,” Mycroft says softly, almost pouting.

“That’s because Merlin’s decided he’s had enough of your meddling,” Harry says. “New recruits get wiped before your people even know they exist. Which is as it should be. I don’t think you’re as prepared for the power all that knowledge could give you, given recent events.”

There’s that shame on his face again, and Eggsy sighs before patting Harry on the head. “A’right, s’nough of that, love,” he says sternly. “He’s your brother, whom you’ve never so much as mentioned before, might I add; and he’s not tried to shoot either of us. Let’s keep this visit as congenial as possible, yeah?”

Harry gives him a deadpan stare before nodding stiffly. “Fine,” he says. His gaze softens to something a tad warmer towards Mycroft, and he smiles ever so slightly. “How have you been, Mycroft?”

It’s Harry’s best honeypot ice breaker, the look and that smile and that dulcet tone put together, and it’s never failed before. But directed at Mycroft, the man simply looks perturbed.

“Fine, thank you?” Mycroft replies, almost unsurely. He glances at Eggsy, who smiles back at him with cheerful encouragement. “We missed you during the Christmas reunion,” he continued.

Harry nods, smile unwavering. “Yes, well, work brought me to Kentucky at the time, and just as well, if what Merlin told me of what happened is true.”

Mycroft nods stiffly. “It was rather a dampener, that,” he acquiesced. “Food was still lovely, however.”

“Of course you’d like the food,” Harry said, and this time, there’s some genuine fondness in his voice, something Eggsy knows means he’s reminiscing.

Mycroft groans softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not you too,” he grumbles behind his fingers. “Sherlock’s been giving me grief about my weight.”

“As he should,” Harry says pointedly. “You’re not getting any younger, Mycroft. You need to watch your intake, lest our next visit be in hospital.”

“Yes, mum,” Mycroft answers, almost petulantly, and it’s funny, watching this man switch between so many behaviours and emotions in such a short amount of time.

Eggsy’s never quite seen anything like it, and it’s entertaining as fuck. At least, until he hears a faint thump from the upstairs bedroom, quiet and muffled. It could’ve gone unheard if it had been anyone else, but Eggsy’s learnt the hard way that having keen ears could save your life. He gives Harry’s shoulder an unnoticeable squeeze before easing off the armrest.

“Shite, forgot I left the tub running upstairs,” he says, slapping his forehead in a convincing ‘what an idiot’ display and offers Mycroft an apologetic smile as he backs away. “Be back in a tiff. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone!”

Mycroft looks vaguely confused, and Eggsy can faintly hear him ask Harry, _ “Wasn’t he leaving when I got here? Why would he have the bath running?” _

Eggsy trusts Harry to deflect other questions, and focuses on keeping himself quiet as he makes his way up the stairs. He’s got his gun tucked in the back of his pants, and keeps a hand on it under his jacket as he creeps down the hallway. 

He has no idea what to expect, but when he pushes his and Harry’s bedroom door open, he certainly does not expect a tall - way fucking taller than even fucking Harry - man with dishevelled, curly hair that’s peeking out from under a deerhat. The man’s black overcoat bellows about him as he moves around almost frantically, and Eggsy can hear him muttering under his breath without pause.

“Oi, who’re you, then?” Eggsy asks incredulously. The man doesn’t move like a robber, and when he stops and looks up at Eggsy, pupils blown wide and brows furrowed with annoyance, Eggsy’s sees the obvious resemblance. “Wait, hold up; _you're _Mycroft and Harry’s brother?”

The furrowed brows transform completely into a full-blown scowl, and the man snaps with derision, “I claim no relation to that brutish snake.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes at the dramatic words, nodding a head over his shoulder. “You coulda just knocked, like a normal bloke,” he says, frowning at the jimmied lock on the bedroom window. “Harry’ll have a fit about that.”

“Harry won’t mind,” the man sniffs, eyes trailing down the length of Eggsy’s body so quickly that Eggsy might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been doing the same to him. “I don’t take tea,” he says plainly.

Eggsy raises a brow, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, good, then, I wasn’t about to offer you any,” he says. “Think you’ve got enough caffeine patches to last you a year, yeah?”

The man’s eyes widen minutely, and he tilts his head, looking vaguely interested where before he’d been simply dismissive. “How did you know about the patches?” he asks, though it sounds almost rhetorical.

Eggsy shrugs. “You ain’t high, but you look like you’re about to burst right outta your skin,” he says. “Had a junkie mate, back in the Estates. Coke was too expensive, so he made do with the patches. Fuck of a lot cheaper. More legal, too.”

The man snorts, looking away. “Aren’t they just,” he murmurs, turning around. “It’s always the dull ones.”

“Where’s your mate, then?” Eggsy asks, ignoring the last comment. He’s always been good at ignoring those kinds of criticisms, no small thanks to Charlie Hesketh and Dean’s friendly lot.

The man glances at him over his shoulder, once again with that slight widening of his eyes. “And how do you know I’m here with my ‘mate’?” he asks, even using his fingers to make air quotes.

Eggsy’s half-tempted to make up some convoluted, twisty story from the man’s posture to the careless way he moved around, like someone who’s used to having his back watched. But he decides that it’s a bit much even if it’s true, and grins instead.

“You Sherlock Holmes, innit?” he says. “Always got Dr John Watson with you.”

Sherlock stumbles slightly over the chest at the foot of the bed, turning around to glare at Eggsy. 

“Everyone reads that blog,” Eggsy says by way of explanation, though it’s a guilty pleasure of his, to be honest. Harry had never quite approved, and now Eggsy understands why a little more.

The doorbell rings just then, and Sherlock claps his hands loudly. “_That _ would be him,” he declares.

Harry’s answering the door when Eggsy comes down the stairs, Sherlock in tow, and true enough, there stood John Watson looking ever so put-upon in his button-down and sweater vest, stance ready and poised for danger despite the slouch of his shoulders.

“Sorry for dropping by like this,” Eggsy hears him saying to Harry. “You know how Sherlock is.”

“Don’t we all,” Harry replies wryly. He turns just as Eggsy’s on the last step, and smiles wanly. “Speak of the devil.”

“Sherlock!” John says with exasperation. “You said you’d wait with Mary!”

Sherlock is unrepentant as he replies from behind Eggsy, “She’d asked me for pickles and rocky road ice cream, John. I’m not equipped to handle that situation.”

“Just admit you haven’t the faintest what rocky road ice cream is,” John snaps back, pulling out his mobile and dialing a number. “Sorry, Harry, I need to make a call,” he says to Harry, and Harry waves him away before fixing Sherlock a reproachful stare, not unlike the one he’d been giving Mycroft earlier.

“You left your pregnant lover and 11-month-old daughter _ alone_, Sherlock?” he asks sternly.

Sherlock braves the stare for a full minute before he looks away and mutters petulantly, “Not alone. Mrs. Hudson’s with them.”

Eggsy stifles a laugh behind a hand, drawing Harry’s attention to him. “Child endangerment is hardly something to laugh about, Eggsy,” Harry says, frowning.

Eggsy sobers up immediately, shaking his head. “No, Harry, s’not,” he agrees. He glances at Sherlock before continuing, “I just think having him around hardly guarantees their safety, though.”

Harry looks contemplative for a moment before he sighs. “I can’t say I disagree with that,” he says.

Mycroft appears in the doorway from the sitting room, and Sherlock actually hisses at him - swear down _ hisses _like a wild cat - and Eggsy gets the feeling that it happens more often than not, given that Mycroft simply shoots Sherlock an unimpressed stare.

“Count yourself lucky that Anthea loves children,” he says.

“Don’t you have better things to do than bother our dear older brother?” Sherlock sneers at him in reply. “Say, start another war in Azerbaijan?”

“Affairs in Azerbaijan are well and peaceful, I’ll have you know,” Mycroft scoffs, tilting his head at Harry as though to silently say, _ do you see what I have to deal with_?

John chooses that moment to return, pocketing his phone and looking up at everyone. “Mary said Anthea dropped by with the ice cream and pickles,” he announces, nodding at Mycroft. “You’re forgiven for the dinner last week.”

“Much obliged,” Mycroft says dryly, while Sherlock scoffs. “He’s still not allowed in the flat,” he says stubbornly.

“And I wouldn’t need to come to your flat if you’d stop sending Lestrade on wild goose chases that result in everyone suspecting you’re using again!” Mycroft argues, losing his composure.

“Hardly my fault they’re brainless enough to do everything I say without good reason,” Sherlock says arrogantly.

“Sherlock, _ behave_,” John snaps, shooting Sherlock a look. “We’ve talked about this; you can’t keep harassing Greg and the others just because you’re bored.”

“Thank you!” Mycroft bursts out, throwing his hands in the air.

“And _ you _need to stop monitoring him!” John snaps at him, and Mycroft scowls indignantly. “Half the reason he does those things is because he knows it’ll rile you up!”

“Yes, listen to the doctor, Mycroft,” Sherlock grumbles. “You might learn a thing or two.”

The loud crack of a gunshot deafens everyone for a split moment, startling them, and Eggsy’s got his own gun drawn as he ducks low, searching for the source of it. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that it’s just Harry, standing in front of the door with one arm still raised in the air and his gun clutched in his hand. It’s still smoking, and the look on his face is obscured by the glint of the left glass of his spectacles.

“What the actual fuck, Harry!” Eggsy says, and Harry lowers his arm. “Lost your mind, have you?”

“No, but I _ have _lost my patience,” Harry explains. “Put that away, John, I’m not going to shoot Sherlock,” he says irritably, and Eggsy notices with a start that John does, in fact, have a gun drawn. He pockets it sheepishly, and Harry adds, “I’ll thank you for defending him, but at this point, he hardly deserves such devotion."

Harry’s gaze sweeps over the rest of them, going particularly steely towards Sherlock and Mycroft.

“Now, if the two of you must insist on imposing upon my hospitality, I would suggest you maintain some level of civility,” he says. “I’ve a headache coming on, and I believe the purpose of this visit will only worsen it.”

\---

**Three Hours Later**

“Wait, so your actual name is _ Harry Holmes_?”

“It’s hardly as funny as you seem to think it is, Eggsy.”

“But _ Harry_? Your parents named them _ Mycroft_, _ Sherlock _ and _ Eurus_, but they named _ you _ Harry?”

“I’d like to think of it as the advantage of being born first.”

“Dodged a bullet there, didn’t you? I still can’t believe Sherlock’s your brother.”

“You’re not the only one, darling.”

“Oh hush up. You _ love _ them, I could tell.”

“Could you now? Was it the way I stopped myself from shooting them both in the foot or the underlying threat to do so in every admonishment I gave?”

“Little bit of both, love. Which brings me to my question; are we going?”

“Heavens _ no_.”

“But it’s your niece’s first birthday!”

“Eggsy, sweetheart, I know you love children. But _ this _is not a normal child.”

“No, it’s _ your niece_, which is exactly why we need to go!”

“They’ll both be there again. In the same room. With _ more _ people. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you the odds of something outrageous happening and putting everyone in harm’s way. We’ll video call them instead and I’ll send them a care package like I did when Mary gave birth.”

“Isn’t that just more reason for us to be there? What if something _ does _ happen and some mad super villain kidnaps Rosie? You’ll just be fretting about it all the way from here.”

“...”

“You know I’m right, love.”

“... I do so hate it when you are. Pack your bags, Eggsy. We’re going to a bee farm.”

“Sweet! Can we bring Merlin too?”

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this like, almost two years ago after watching TGC and found out that Baker Street isn't all that far from the Kingsman's secret lair, and it got me... _thinking_. A lot. There was originally a whole multi-chapter story but I gave up and stopped here hahaha. <s>If anyone would kindly write more of this 'verse instead, I will love you forever, just sayin'.</s> There's literally zero plot in this, I fixated on the thought of how hilarious it would be for Mycroft to get chewed out by Harry and how Harry would deal with a bratty Sherlock, and- this happened lol.
> 
> Anyway, this is set after all the Sherlock BBC seasons (so maybe minor spoilery references) and after both Kingsman movies. Major divergence here is that nobody died in either universe because two years later and I'm still in denial <s>we musn't speak of it, shh</s>.


End file.
